Dottie rescued her by changing the subject. “Please tell us more about what kind of work we will be doing in the engraving department.” Her voice was quiet and songlike, and Margaret could barely hear her in the wind tunnel created between the brick building and the massive ship to their right.

But George heard easily enough. Attuned, perhaps, to the inflections of the woman he loved in secret. “You’ll be working with machinery that engraves the ordnance.”

“The ordnance!” Margaret exclaimed. “I didn’t know we might be working with weapons. Will it be safe?”

Her assignment in the sewing department had only confirmed how much she liked working with her hands, but she shuddered at the element of danger that this suggested.

“Yes, very safe,” George assured her. “Nothing you’ll be handling will be loaded. That comes later after they send it to munitions. You’ll engrave casings, cannon shells, guns.”

Margaret felt relieved, but goose bumps gathered on her arms at the gravity of a job like this. Although the flags were important, the ordnance played an essential role in the war. That meant that Margaret and Dottie would be playing an essential role.

One more small thing to help John.

Dottie put a hand on George’s arm. “We can’t thank you enough for putting in a good word for us.”

Margaret felt bad for having jumped into the details without even acknowledging the gratitude he deserved. And of course, Dottie would have the consideration to do so. George beamed at her touch.

“Think nothing of it. You know I would do anything for you,” he said, looking at Dottie. And then he caught himself. “For both of you,” he hurried to add.

Margaret sensed his embarrassment and filled the awkward interlude to spare him. “We are in your debt, George. Now and always. You have come through for us at every turn.” And it was true. Not only had he vouched for them to get this promotion, but he’d also shared his sugar and coffee rations with them since the dawn of those measures, insisting that he didn’t care for them. Even though before the war, Margaret knew him to be a three-cups-a-day coffee drinker with heaping spoons of sugar. He’d also given Dottie his bicycle last month when the bus broke down. Not lent—given. And he’d brought over a chicken and string bean casserole a few years back when Margaret and John’s grandmother died.

How could they ever repay him?